Dylan Leblanc – Paupers Field

Dylan Leblanc - Paupers Field

What Paupers Field does so beautifully is show that true anguish is weary and unhurried; heartbreaking in its resignation. Born-in-the-90s Dylan Leblanc, and indeed the album itself, are preceded by an impressively dramatic bio: dropping out of school to hang out with musicians, the murder of his grandfather, and his own drinking and depression all vie for pole position in his list of influences.  As he sings on the opening track, “Are you feeling alright? Are you feeling low?”, you can’t help wonder who he’s talking to – us or himself.

Such archetypical Deep South musical credentials means that, in a less secure pair of hands, this album is in grave danger off sliding into cliché and self-indulgence. Colourful family history? Check. Evidence of own personal anguish and potential slide into addiction? Check. Swooning steel guitar and delicately picked melodies? Check.  Protégé of established and great country star? Check out Emmylou Harris on guest vocal duties. But Leblanc pays tribute to the idea that something can be so much greater than the sum of its parts, and translates his life experiences and feelings into something both musically brilliant and emotionally moving.

One of the album’s highlights is perhaps the least typically ‘country’ track, ’5th Avenue Bar’, where Leblanc pushes against heavy cellos to articulate his despair at having nothing left of a relationship but a picture in a locket – a deliciously nostalgic idea from someone of a generation for whom photo memories are more common in pixelated form. Like many creative types of his age, he’s obsessed with ideas of the past, both real and imagined. This album is full of ghosts, sometimes literally; on ‘The Death of Outlaw Billy John’, he tells the tale of the moments up to an execution and the weeping of the relatives of this condemned man, with empathy and aplomb that you can’t help but feel something for this man, even though he was guilty of ‘fourteen banks and thirteen cold blooded murders.’

The instrumentation on this album is undeniably beautiful, but if it weren’t for Leblanc’s vocals,  this album would loiter in ‘very good’ instead of, as it does, striding determinedly into ‘outstanding.’  His voice, smoky and forlorn, sounds like it’s been around far longer than his 20 years, and as he croons and howls his way through these twelve tracks, trailing vowels and misery, there isn’t a single moment of insincerity or posturing. Dylan Leblanc, and his Louisiana brand of tragedy are as real as they come. Both absorbed in and reflecting on his own misery, instead of alienating the listener he draws us in and leaves us hanging on every modest word.

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